


bad blood

by bangui



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: AU, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, M/M, narrate in the first person, police michael, sex mention
Language: 中文-普通话 國語
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangui/pseuds/bangui
Summary: 他的脸上又添了新伤，我伸出手把他颧骨下尚未结痂的粉色伤口捻开，那里像上色一样迅速地渗出红色。他开始背着我品尝自己，从缺乏脂肪的脸颊开始剜下一块带皮的血肉送入自己的口中，鼓动着腮帮咀嚼的同时伸长舌头舔舐流到嘴角的血。现在看来他在戳破皮肤后因为某种原因放弃了，我应该告诉他圆环之蛇不可能消失在自己的胃里，他也不能。In order to make more people can understand, I used a translator to translate a bit, there may be a lot of mistakes but I think it should be basic to understand.I put the translation at the back of the original.
Relationships: Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	bad blood

他站在玻璃窗外裹着皱巴巴的外套跺脚，天气已经转凉他里面还挂着那件脏得看不出颜色的T恤。我带他去买过一次衣服，但他最终只选了一件女式连衣裙，俗气的红绿花格，因为长期滞销而十分廉价。他的脑袋还没有不正常到穿那条连衣裙来警局找我，或者他确实有过这种念头在某一刻又打消了，我时常思索他身上所表现出来的一切是否与他存在微妙差错的性别认知有关，比如他总是在和我做的时候小声地哭，像个被侵犯的妓女一样，抽搭落下的泪在床单上晕出一小滩水迹，他说他和女人做的时候不会这样，说这话的时候他光着身子吸一包在旧衣服的兜里找到的粉，微眯的眼角有眼泪干涸后留下的盐分。

没多久他就被值班的同事领了进来，其他人约莫不知道我们的关系，只当他是来投诉的流浪汉叫他坐在大厅的长椅上等候。他把“吃得饱”的纸袋举过头顶，一边用手指着袋子一边远远地用口型叫我的名字，我和他短暂地眼神相接后他走了过来，把纸袋塞进我的怀里顺带顺走了我腰上的配枪。通过接手过来的重量我判断他给我的绝不是与纸袋配套的快餐，那是他自己制作的东西，粉色的酱状物，也许搅动着会浮出细碎的肉块。

他的脸上又添了新伤，我伸出手把他颧骨下尚未结痂的粉色伤口捻开，那里像上色一样迅速地渗出红色。他开始背着我品尝自己，从缺乏脂肪的脸颊开始剜下一块带皮的血肉送入自己的口中，鼓动着腮帮咀嚼的同时伸长舌头舔舐流到嘴角的血。现在看来他在戳破皮肤后因为某种原因放弃了，我应该告诉他圆环之蛇不可能消失在自己的胃里，他也不能。

三天前在车库里，那个被我从市区带来站街女在尚能叫喊时被他咬下了舌头。进食时为避免弄脏衣服，他会像个听话的小孩一样把上衣脱下来叠好交给我。我站在车库门边，从这个方向看去他的影子与地上的女人重叠在一起，顶上昏暗的灯光落在他的脊背上刻出不深不浅的肌肉纹理。

他咬下去，牙关紧收，女人的动脉在他的臼齿上磨碎，人在意识从躯体上剥落时会发出奇怪的声响，听起来像对着小洞吹气，声音单调尖利。他包着满口的鲜血转头看我，兜不住的液体从唇缝溢出，像河流汇聚成海般涓涓流向他起伏的胸膛。他开始吞咽，喉头滚动，舌搅动着发出粘腻的声响。我过去亲吻他，腥气的液体匀进我的口中，我捏住他的下颚把我的大拇指卡进他齿根咬合的连接处，他的利齿在我的皮肤上颤抖轻点，生怕不经意间的刮擦会伤到我。我和他做时他也这般，即使抽插到深处整个人痛到紧绷蜷缩呼吸滞停，伏在我肩头他也只像幼犬一般虚虚地咬合。

他似乎一直在为第一次见面时对我表现的食欲感到愧疚，以至于不再把我和食物联系在一起，但我从未告诉他这恰是我最恨他的部分。

我想象过在进入时被他撕咬下双臂，彼此在温热的血中达高潮，我们各有一部分在对方的身体中消化，而我最终消泯在他的胃里。

没有我他或许会饿死在街头，又或许会作为连环杀人犯被捕入狱，那都不重要，他的命运一直在那等着他，常伦在身后紧追不舍，他只需要马不停蹄地逃离。

上次在夜里开车回好麦坞，他拍着我的脸说，麦克，你的一切是完全颠倒的。

你呢？性别倒错的异食症疯子。

他哈哈大笑起来很难得没有反驳。最终车停下他吻了吻我的嘴唇，没有多余的温存，只残留下一个刺痛的印象。

我一瞬间希望他驾驶的那辆白色奥北能在狂飙时撞上卡车夺走他的生命，接着，我更希望驾驶奥北的人是我。

晚安。他说。

我目送他离开，周遭又变冷起来。他似乎带走了我所有的血液和温度，再度把我抛回了正常的人群中。

He stood outside the glass window, his crumpled coat stamped, the weather cold, his dirty t shirt hanging indiscriminately. I took him shopping once, but he ended up choosing only a dress, a Gaudy red and green check that was cheap because it had long been slow to sell. His mind was not abnormal enough to wear that dress to meet me at the police station, or it did cross his mind at some point, i often wonder if everything about him has to do with his nuanced gender perception, such as the fact that he always cries when he has sex with me, like a violated prostitute, he says he doesn't cry like that when he's making love to a woman. He says he sucks naked from a bag of powder he found in the pocket of an old suit, the slight corner of the eye has the salt left after the tears have dried.

It was not long before he was ushered in by a colleague on duty, and the rest of the company, unaware of our relationship, took it for granted that he was a vagrant who had come to complain and told him to wait on a bench in the hall. He held the "well-fed" paper bag over his head, pointed to it with his finger and mouthed my name in the distance. After a brief eye contact, he came over, shoved a paper bag in my arms and stole my sidearm. From the weight I took over, I could tell he wasn't giving me a paper bag snack, but something he'd made himself, a pink paste, perhaps stirring up tiny pieces of meat that would float.

He had a fresh cut on his face, and I reached out to open the pink scab beneath his cheekbones, which was oozing red as fast as paint. He began to taste himself behind me, cutting a strip of flesh from his fat-deficient cheek into his mouth, stirring his cheeks to chew while stretching his tongue and licking the blood from the corners of his mouth. Now it looks like he gave up for some reason after he broke the skin, and I should have told him that the serpent couldn't disappear into his own stomach, and neither could he. 

Three days ago in the garage, he bit off the tongue of a girl I brought in from downtown while she was still screaming. He would take off his shirt and fold it for me, like a good little boy, so as not to get dirty while eating. I stood by the garage door, his shadow overlapping the women on the floor from this direction, The dim light of the roof carving a slight muscle texture into the back of his crest. As he bites, his teeth clench, the woman's arteries grind against his molars, and a strange, shrill sound is made when consciousness is stripped from the body, like blowing into a hole. He turned to look at me with his mouth full of blood, and the liquid that he could not hold spilled from his lips like a river into a sea that trickled down to his heaving chest. He began to swallow, his throat rolling, his tongue churning with a clammy sound. I went to kiss him, the fishy liquid in my mouth, I grabbed his chin and stuck my thumb into the joint where his teeth were clenched, his sharp teeth quivering slightly on my skin for fear that an accidental scratch might hurt me. He did the same when we sex, and even as he squeezed and curled up in pain and hovered over my shoulder, he only snapped ineffectively like a puppy. 

He always seemed to feel guilty about his appetite when we first met, so much so that he no longer associated me with food, but I never told him that was the part I hated the most.

I imagined being ripped off my arms as we entered, coming together in the warm blood, each of us digesting a part of the other, and me finally disappearing into his stomach. 

Without me, he would have starved to death in the streets, or been arrested as a serial killer, it doesn't matter, his fate was always there for him, and it was right behind him, all he had to do was run.

The last time he drove me back to Hollywood at night, he patted my face and said, Michael, Everything about you is upside down.

How about you? transvestite. 

It was hard for him to laugh without a retort. Finally the car stopped and he kissed me on the lips, no extra tenderness, only a tingling impression. For a moment I hoped that the White Alpe he was driving would crash into the truck and kill him, and then I wished I was driving it.

Good night. He said.

I watched him leave and it got cold again. He seemed to take away all my blood and temperature and throw me back into the normal crowd again.


End file.
